Geoffrey's words were interrupted by a hoarse shout from the battlements, and a sentinel demanded the names and errand of the newcomers.
"They keep good ward," remarked Oswald, as one of the English archers who was about to sound a tucket thrust his trumpet behind him.
"Ho, there! Who comes?" repeated the sentinel.
"I would have speech with the seneschal," replied Gripwell.
In a few minutes torches flickered behind the battlements, glittering on steel headpiece and breastplate; then a voice exclaimed: "Here am I, Bertrand de Vaux, seneschal to my Lord Oliver Lysle. Who would have speech with me at this unseemly hour?"
"Sir Oliver's son stands without, and would be admitted."
"I wot not that Sir Oliver's son was coming hither," replied the seneschal. "What proof have I that ye are not of Malevereux, or of Entrevilles, or of Faux?"
"A truce to thy stubbornness, Bertrand," shouted Oswald. "Dost recognize my voice? I am Oswald Steyning, Sir Oliver's squire."
"A thousand pardons, monsieur. Now I know 'tis no trick or stratagem. Nevertheless, be it known that Sir Oliver's strict injunctions allow neither the gate nor the sally-port to be opened after sunset, save by virtue of his written order."
"Doth that also apply to the drawbridge?" asked Gripwell.